


Store Dude

by Jackolidus



Series: Will it Stick? [5]
Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Gun Violence, Stick-Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-24 06:02:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30067785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackolidus/pseuds/Jackolidus
Summary: Michael gets shot!
Series: Will it Stick? [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2212059





	Store Dude

Mikey wasn’t, like, a cool guy or anything. He was just basic. An average joe. He worked two jobs to make rent, he went out to eat once a week, and he played Call of Duty almost every night. One of his jobs was at a department store, and the other one was a night shift at a bar, waiting tables and shit, mopping up at close. He usually ate out at a diner, the one close to his apartment, and he liked to get the signature burger, it came with bacon, guacamole, and a fries and shake combo. It was, like, $6.99. A steal. And he had, like, one Modern Warfare friend. But the guy was never on, so it wasn’t much. 

He didn’t have huge plans for the future, but he lived a fast-paced life. There wasn’t much time to come up with big plans. No time for a girlfriend, no time for seeing his parents, no time for a 401k. All he did was eat, sleep, work, and do it all again the next day. Not that he minded much. 

It got super boring, sometimes, and he found himself getting burnt out, tired of hearing the same forty pop hits over and over again, tired of waking up early and going to bed late. He missed not doing anything, sometimes. 

The plot-relevant thing here, is the customers. Out of his two jobs, 90% of his life was customer service. Making people happy, getting yelled at, smiling and waving, the whole nine yards. Daily, he’d have some old woman yell at him for something dumb, like putting a straw in her drink or giving her the wrong phone number for a store he’d never heard of but she refused to look up, and he’d just have to take it with humility and give her as many coupons as she wanted. It was grating, but it paid the bills. His big brown eyes and fluffy hair got him out of a lot of trouble, too. Especially with the old white women who didn’t mind his tan skin. 

Most of the upset was split evenly between the two jobs, even though his closing shift at the bar was only five hours, most nights, and he worked eight or nine at the store. So it would make sense for the bar to get held up, guns blazing. That is not what happened. 

It was a Tuesday, sunny or cloudy or something, and and he had two shifts scheduled for the bar that night, so he’d be working, like, sixteen hours that day. It was money in his wallet, he didn’t mind. He was in the middle of his shift at the store when it happened. 

There was a manager in the back, but he’d just clocked in and didn’t have a radio, and Mikey was cool with working the front until the guy finished counting drawers or whatever, to switch himself over to the registers. Other than the manager, Mikey was alone. 

He had seen like, a thousand customers already, and he was exhausted. He really didn’t mind doing his job, but it took forever to get through a shift. And it wasn’t super fun. Just your average retail job. 

He stood by his register until a guy walked up, completely normal except he was wearing a mask, the kind that doctors wear. It wasn’t that weird, though, because maybe he had a cold or something. Whatever. 

“Can I help you with something?” Mikey asked, because the guy didn’t have any stuff, so he was either lost or he was looking for something. He wouldn’t describe himself as bored, but he definitely wasn’t completely awake. 

The guy looked around for a second. “You can start with the fifties,” he said, kinda quiet. 

There wasn’t anyone else in the store, really. Like, there were probably three people shopping somewhere, but they weren’t anywhere close to the register. Mikey couldn’t see anyone. So he said, “Excuse me?” Still trying to be polite and all that. 

“All the fifties in your register,” the guy said, just standing there, not making eye contact. 

A couple things. First of all, Mikey expected this from his bar patrons, the people who regularly slapped his ass and threw bottles at him, not from the people at the department store, where pretty much only old women shopped. Second, he didn’t have access to the register drawer until someone paid for something in cash. It was locked. Only the manager could open it. 

He was looking around, trying to see if there was anyone he could talk to to save him from the creepy wannabe robber, when the creepy wannabe robber leveled-up and pulled out a gun. If Mikey had been bored before, he definitely wasn’t anymore. 

He took a step back and said, “Oh, shit.” 

“The cash, man. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Mikey swallowed and instinctively reached for the walkie-talkie. Brett didn’t have his on, so it wouldn’t have been much good. “I can’t open the drawer,” he explained, not making eye contact with the dude, just with his gun. 

“I just watched you open it for an old lady a minute ago, cut the bull.”

“Yeah,” his voice wavered a little bit. “She paid in cash and I had to give her some change.”

“I don’t care,” the guy said. “Open it again and give me the cash.”

It was kinda like dealing with a complainey old woman who didn’t get it. It was a little bit funny like that. “I literally can’t, dude,” Mikey said. “Not unless you buy something.”

He didn’t really expect the motherfucker to shoot him, but that was exactly what happened. One second, Mikey was reaching for the phone, trying to be discreet, trying to call Brett up to the front to get the register open or call the cops or some shit, but the dude fired at him before he could even get close. 

Mikey felt like a brick had hit him in the chest, and he found himself mysteriously draped over the counter behind him, limp, like a ragdoll. He gasped when the pain hit him like a freight train. He dripped down onto the floor, knees refusing to hold him up for longer than they had to, and he choked on a sob because his chest really fucking hurt. He couldn’t move, he could only lay on the ground between his register and the one behind him, legs underneath him, head stuck on the counter behind him. 

He heard people yelling, and someone screamed, really close to him. There was suddenly a lady in his face, leaning over him. She did something that hurt so badly that he tried to twist away, probably pushing down on the bullethole in his chest. He screamed at her, closed his eyes, and tried to block it out. 

He must’ve blocked out too much, because everything went black and he drifted off. 

~

Isla didn’t usually shop at stores catered to old women. She didn’t usually shop for clothes at all. The only reason she was shopping for clothes on this particular day was because she needed something to wear to her sister’s destination wedding. Something that wasn’t too white or hot or revealing. Something she could wear to an Oceanside wedding in Hawaii. 

She loved her sister to death, don’t get her wrong, but Mila’s choice to have a destination wedding was going to drive Isla up the wall. She hated the concept of destination weddings. Forcing everyone you know to pay for a vacation in the middle of the year just to watch you get married to a dick who’s gonna dump you in a year? That’s just cruel. To everyone involved. 

But it was going to make Mila happy, so Isla was going to do it. She did have to purchase clothes, first. 

She chose Raymond’s because that was where her grandma used to take her shopping, not because she thought there would be anything useful there. Don’t get her wrong, she was sure she’d find something, but the only reason she went was because of nostalgia. 

She was in the blue and green section, flipping through dresses and shirts that definitely wouldn’t fit her or were too ugly to be considered, when she heard the gunshot. 

She immediately ducked behind the rack of shirts, hoping she wouldn’t be next. If there was an active shooter, they’d aim for whoever they could find. Isla wasn’t going to risk being the first one plowed down. 

Someone screamed, and Isla didn’t move until she was sure the shooter had left the building. Then, she stood up. 

There was a lady standing by the register, pointing at something on the floor. She made eye contact with Isla and frantically ran away, towards the exit. When the door yelled at her, signaling that she had merchandise that she hadn’t paid for, she just screamed and kept running. 

Isla carefully made her way to the register. There weren’t many people in the store, she seemed to be one of the only ones left. She scanned the whole store for more people, but she froze in place at the puddle of blood that was seeping out from behind the counter. 

She hurried to find the source, and there he was, gasping for breath and immobile, eyes wide, staring at the ceiling. 

“Oh my god,” she murmured. “Somebody help!”

She couldn’t fit her body behind the counter, so she grabbed him under his arms and pulled him out into the open, and knelt down next to him. 

“I am not watching you die,” she decided, pressing two hands over the bubbling hole in his chest. “Stay with me,” she said, watching the guy’s eyes flutter. She looked at his name tag “Stay with me, Mikey.”

There was a small crowd gathering around, a few people were watching, gasping quietly and murmuring. 

Someone came running up behind her, from the back of the store. They were yelling, too. “Shit! Mikey! Shit! Somebody call 9-1-1!” The man knelt beside Isla and slapped Mikey in the face, making him jolt awake and gasp for air. “Mikey, you gotta stay with me, kid,” he demanded, ignoring Isla. “Come on.” He looked up. “What the fuck happened?”

In the background, someone was dealing with the ambulance service, explaining the situation and everything, and a pop radio station was still on. Ed Sheeran. 

“I heard a gunshot,” Isla explained. “He was just on the floor.”

Mikey moaned. “Brett,” he said, voice thin and watery. “He wanted the cash.”

Isla kept steady pressure on the wound while Brett shuddered. “You should’ve given it to him.”

Mikey’s eyes slipped shut again and he licked his lips. “S’gonna call you,” he breathed. “Open the drawer.” He inhaled sharply when Isla adjusted herself. “Fuck!” he bit. “Fuck!”

“Open your eyes, Mikey,” Brett demanded. He looked at Isla. “Do we need to keep his eyes open? I don’t know what to do, I’ve only seen movies.”

Isla blinked. “I don’t know. Don’t let him pass out.”

Mikey groaned. “Someone…sitting on me.”

Isla smiled. “That’s just me. My name’s Isla. What’s your name?”

Mikey winced and shuddered and struggled to breathe. “Mikey.” His face twisted up. “It hurts,” he choked. 

Brett pulled Mikey’s head up onto his lap. “What’s your mom’s phone number? Someone has to call her.”

“No,” Mikey choked. “No, please don’t tell my mom, she’ll be so pissed.” He twisted under Isla’s hands, and she was starting to lose her grip. He whimpered when he moved. 

“Brett, you’re making it real hard for me to stop the bleeding, can you put his head back on the floor, please?” 

Brett scooted out from under Mikey and held his hands up. “Sorry.”

Isla pushed down hard, once Mikey was flat on his back. He screamed and arched his back off the floor. “Stay with me, Mikey,” she said. “Tell me what your favorite food is, okay?”

Mikey, who was still writhing, shook his head. His eyes were squeezed closed. “I’m gonna puke,” he wheezed. “It hurts so bad!”

“What’s your favorite color?”

Mikey cried out again. Nothing had changed, but Isla didn’t blame him. She was really trying to stop the bleeding. She needed him to make it. She was invested. He seemed lucid. Like he might make it. “Fuck!” he cried. “You’re hurting me!”

Isla nodded, trying to stay calm. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to stop the bleeding.”

Mikey panted for a while. No one wanted to make him talk. He didn’t seem to want to. But when his eyes started drifting shut and air seemed to come more naturally, Isla knew she had to do something. Make him talk. 

“Mikey,” she said, listening hard for sirens. “Mikey, can you look at me?”

Mikey didn’t even try, just moaned halfheartedly and let his head roll. 

Brett slapped Mikey’s face a little, tried to get him to wake up. “Come on, kid. You’re the best at register, I need you.”

“Mikey, wake up,” Isla demanded. “Mikey, open your eyes.”

Mikey didn’t. 

Isla felt her heartbeat speed up. “Okay, change of plans, Brett.” She pulled a hand away and grabbed one of Brett’s. Her hand slipped on his wrist. “Put your fingers here, on his neck, let me know if his heart stops. I’ll have to start CPR.”

Brett pressed his fingers to Mikey’s neck like his life depended on it. His didn’t, but Mikey’s did. “You know CPR?”

“I took a course when I was a teenager,” Isla explained, putting her hand back on Mikey. He was losing a lot of blood. “We’ll have to switch spots. And I’ll have to get his shirt off. But I’ll need you to get the AED thing and help me save him. We might have to get someone else to help us.”

Brett nodded and frowned. “We don’t have an AED.”

Isla took a deep breath. Everything smelled like death. “Okay. Great. The ambulance will be here, soon. We won’t have to worry about it.” She looked around. The other shoppers were still mulling around, just watching. “You can feel his pulse, right?”

Brett nodded again. “Yeah. Definitely. It’s fast.”

Isla blew out a puff of air. “Can someone get me a plastic bag?” she called. “It’ll help me stop the blood. I dunno why I didn’t think of it sooner.”

One of the women shuffled forward and handed her a shopping bag. It did help to stop the bleeding. 

After a very long time, probably twenty minutes, the ambulance showed up. Mikey woke up when they moved him, and he screamed again, crying out in pain. It made something inside Isla twinge. They left Brett and Isla sitting in the puddle of blood while they carried Mikey away.


End file.
